


Sometimes Heroes Want To Be Conquered Instead

by Aliax



Category: A Land Fit for Heroes - Richard Morgan
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bittersweet, Chocolate Box Treat, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake DubCon, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Sexual Roleplay, brief spanking, sub!Ringil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 13:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17581640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aliax/pseuds/Aliax
Summary: Ringil is the one who chose to sacrifice quite a few things in exchange for his quiet little life in Gallows Waters. In bed, for example, he's learnt to make do with the odd bribed stable boy every now and then. One night, a passing traveller reminds him how it feels to be truly wanted, and Ringil finds that maybe he's missed that more than he'd realised...





	Sometimes Heroes Want To Be Conquered Instead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ruis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruis/gifts).



> Dear Ellerfru, when I read in your prompt that _"some of my favorite canon scenes are when Ringil just talks to people"_ , the first scene of this fic popped into my mind. I originally tacked on an evasive middle part, and then the last part, and there, I had written my first treat ever!
> 
> ... And then I figured I could expand on the middle part juuuuust a tiny little bit, and, uh, things got weird... Oops? I hope you'll like it anyway!
> 
> (Also: I know that nobody ever uses lube in canon, but I _like_ lube, dammit! So lube there is in this fic.)

The old man - around fifty, Ringil would have guessed - was clearly a war and freebooting veteran, like so many other Majak one would meet around here. It showed in the way he held himself, in the scars on his face and hands, in the mismatch of Imperial and League clothes he wore in contrast to his broad Majak face and the iron talismans in his grey hair and the spear settled at his feet under the bench. And above all, it showed in the way he grinned at some of Ringil’s most outrageous embellishments of his tale of the desperate fight at the Gap, high up in the mountains above the small town.

Ringil didn’t think the man had participated in that encounter himself; it was simply that he could read right through the tactical lizardshit Ringil was infusing into the story to make it more exciting. _Look, man, when you have to recount the same event time and time again to people who have no actual idea what a battle looks like anyway, after a while, you have to be forgiven for getting a tad bit creative with it, right?_ The vet certainly seemed to think so, since he never commented, never called Ringil out, just listened as he ate and drank, and snorted once in a while when Ringil’s artistic liberties reached particularly egregious heights.

When Ringil was finally done, and was allowed to retreat to the bar with many bows and thanks - and enough money to keep the innkeeper happy for at least a week - he was not surprised that the vet should soon join him there. They both finished their beers in silence, then refilled them.

“Some, ah, unusual manoeuvres you described back there, kid,” the vet finally said, seeming almost as indifferent as one would be when commenting on the weather.

Ringil faked a grin to hide the weariness which always filled him whenever he actually tried to _discuss_ , not just describe, that desperate fight. “Certainly sounds better to my own ears than what really happened.”

The vet nodded. “And it’s not like they would know any better.”

“Nope.” It was only local farmers and craftsmen in here, and the odd travelling merchant caravan. The League soldiers never came up here, not even to honour their dead.

“So you might as well give them something to… _hang_ onto, I suppose.” Ringil blinked. The vet was still speaking in the same perfectly casual, almost bored voice, but… “Something to keep them warm and safe at night, right?”

Ringil turned his head to stare at the vet. The bright blue eyes caught his gaze and didn’t let it go as the man swallowed another gulp of beer, and then licked the lip of his mug.

_… Oh._

_Getting rusty, eh, Gil?_ After half a dozen years spent here, having to bribe stable boys once in a blue moon and to hope that the rest of the town would look the other way for a night, he almost didn’t remember how to respond.

Almost.

“You interested in military strategy?” he asked. The vet raised a puzzled eyebrow; Ringil manufactured a shrug. “It’s just that I wrote a book about it. Never been published, but I was wondering if you’d like to take a look at it.” He indicated the room around them with a vague move of the hand. “I mean, as we said, the place is not exactly replete with specialists on the topic.”

The vet pretended to ponder the question. “A strategy treaty written by the Hero of Gallows Gap himself?” He finished his beer and smacked his lips. “Yeah, kid, I think I’d like to see what that would look like.”

**

It wasn’t Ringil’s fault if there was nowhere for two people to sit in his room, except on the bed, was it? So on the bed they settled, face to face, boots off, legs crossed, with Ringil’s refused and returned tome between them.

Truth be told, Ringil couldn’t even had said why he’d kept the pretense. The invitation had just been an excuse for fucking, and they both knew it! Sure enough, the vet had seemed slightly taken aback when it had turned out that there really was a treaty after all, and for one moment, something had teetered painfully inside Ringil’s chest. Why was he so bothered at the idea of the other man refusing to play along, and demanding that they proceed immediately with what they had both silently agreed on?

Why had he been so relieved when the vet had given him a small, amused smile, before following Ringil into that new script? Why was he so stupidly thrilled now, listening to the old man commenting on the more remarkable parts of his treaty - even as he so perfectly accidentally rubbed the back of his knuckles against Ringil’s knee every time he turned a page?

Ringil didn’t know. He just knew that he felt like crying - stupidly, unfathomably - when he planted a hand on a page to hold it in place, and the vet laid his own hand next to his, and the man’s thumb traced the length of Ringil’s small finger, once, and then again, even as they discussed what was written on the opposite page.

They had brought wine with them, but no glasses. They were going to down it like soldiers, straight from the bottle, passing it back-and-forth between them. Ringil’s heart beat a little harder when the vet set his treaty aside and pulled the bottle up from the floor where they’d left it.

“It’s no wonder the Trelayne Academy refused it, you know.” The old man took a first gulp, and handed the drink to Ringil. “You’re too smart for your own good, kid. And quite frankly” - a wolfish smile, and a dark glimmer in the clear blue eyes - “more than a little insolent, for someone that young. I guess they figured you needed” - a lick of the chapped lips - “to be taught a lesson about respecting your elders.”

Ringil had not been completely soft since they’d walked up the stairs and he’d felt the vet’s gaze on his arse, but his prick stiffened yet some more at this escalation. He managed to swallow his mouthful of wine without strangling himself, and faked a snort. “A lesson?” he retorted haughtily. “I’m the Hero of Gallows Gap and the Saviour of Trelayne, remember? Talent doesn’t have to bow to age purely on principle.”

“True.” Ringil extended his arm to give the bottle back to the vet - and barely had time to see the man’s hands move. He _could_ have stopped him if he’d wanted to, but why would he? His blood pumped hard and hot down his legs and into his groin as the vet caught his fist wrapped around the bottle’s neck in one iron grip, and lunged forward with his other hand to capture Ringil’s free wrist and pull it savagely to him, forcing Ringil’s into a painful, twisted bent-over situation.

The vet leered down at him. “There’s, however, something many of your elders do have quite a bit more of than you that you _should_ respect. Know what that is?”

Ringil gulped, fought back the grin of excitement trying to pull the corners of his lips up, and pretended to try to free himself. “What do you think you’re doing!?”

The vet’s hand slid down and pulled the bottle out of Ringil’s unresisting fingers. He took several long swallows while keeping his piercing blue eyes fixed on Ringil. He still hadn’t let go of Ringil’s other wrist, and Ringil was almost legitimately too entranced to react.

“Experience, kid,” the vet finally said with that dark twinkle in his eyes again. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Don’t go thinking that just because you got some, you can look down on those of us who have so much more.”

Ringil revived at those words. In one smooth move, he twisted his entire arm and easily broke the grip the vet had on his wrist. He straightened up, stole the bottle back, plastered his very best smirk on his face as he replied, “Oh really?” and then it was his turn to hold the old man’s gaze as he too took a long swallow of wine.

This time, he honestly failed to react when the vet once more brought both his hands forward, one to take the bottle back and the other…

The other went straight between Ringil’s splayed and crossed legs. His prick instantly finished to harden under the touch, and he gasped in pleasure he hadn’t had time to anticipate when the large, rough hand squeezed the hot bar through his clothes.

The vet was the one bent over now, and so he had to look up to catch Ringil’s gaze again, but there was only challenge and victory on the weathered face when the man whispered, “Yes, really.”

… That was when Ringil finally understood what he so desperately wanted tonight. Something broke inside him, and a terrible vulnerability swelled to fill his soul. He felt catapulted to so many years earlier, when he would lay under the heavy gaze of another older man, who didn’t just want to fuck him. A man who had taught him many questionable things, but who was also the only one - besides Jelim, of course… - who had ever truly _cared_ for him in bed, who had wanted _all_ of him, his young body and his insolent mind and also, Ringil knew, even his broken and fearful heart.

He knew he couldn’t have _all_ of that again, not with this stranger, not even, most likely, if he went back to Grace-of-Heaven in Trelayne. But… Maybe he could… Maybe just for one night… Maybe he could be the one pursued, seduced, _wanted,_ instead of being the one who had to buy the favours of stable boys?

Was that really too much to wish for?

He swallowed hard, feeling more lost than he could remember feeling in half a decade at least. He could barely name his desires, and he would die before he voiced them.

He couldn’t tell whether the vet read all this on his face. It wouldn’t be so surprising if he had; after all, that was a skill all men like them needed to learn to some degree if they wanted to survive. Or maybe the man was just obliviously keeping on with the script. Either way, Ringil watched with a shivering heart as the vet leaned to the side to sit the bottle on the floor, before rising back to meet him again.

His hand on Ringil’s prick hadn’t moved at all.

One-handed, carefully, almost gently, and Ringil could have cried because of it, the vet lifted each of Ringil’s legs, unfolded them, laid them open on each side of him. Then he rose on his knees, and with his free hand, barely pushed on Ringil’s shoulder to order him to lie down.

Ringil did. He stretched down on his bed, closed his eyes, and focused on not falling apart in a haze of lust and something infinitely more fragile, as the vet dragged an appreciative hand up his leg and over his hip, before pulling on the laces of Ringil’s breeches.

Ringil moaned, just barely but loud in the quiet room, when the other hand released his nearly aching prick.

“Shh, kid,” the vet whispered, “I’m gonna take care of you.”

Ringil had to slap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from sobbing at those words. He rose his hips to help the old man slide both breeches and underwear down over his arse. He felt the bed move and he shivered as his legs were laid bare. He groaned in shameless need as warm, rough hands slowly, far too slowly, were dragged up from his ankles to his knees to his thighs. He bit on his lower lip to hold back a plea. He wasn’t going to beg! … Not yet, anyway…

He did grunt, a sudden, emptying thing, when without any warning, the large hands pushed his thighs wide apart. His exposed prick kicked, betraying for everyone to see just how turned on he was at being manhandled like this.

He would have been ashamed of the outright whine he let out when a hot tongue traced the length of his cock, from balls to head, if his entire mind and body weren’t rejoicing, and wondering how he’d survived for so long without that kind of touch. The flat of the tongue wrapped around the underside of his length, and then the pointed tip teased at the sensitive crown at the base of his head, before following the connecting line to the slit at the very top and licking the first drops slipping from it already.

“Fuck!” Ringil whispered, all eloquence lost.

He heard and felt the vet chuckle around his prick, and his hips writhe in response. “Soon enough, kid,” the old man answered after pulling back, to Ringil’s dismay. “First, I want to take a proper look at you.”

Ringil didn’t have time to wonder what he meant. Already, there were fingers working at unbuttoning his jerkin and the shirt underneath it. And once again, he found himself on the verge of begging, as the vet took his slow, lusty time, pulling the layers of fabric apart after each button undone, and claiming the shivering skin below with hands and mouth. He felt like he was being set on fire, bit by bit, and he couldn’t even complain, because it was such a delicious, wonderful fire!

When the last button came off, and his torso was finally fully exposed, he heard what was unmistakably a very appreciative sound fall down from the vet’s lips - and this time, he had no chance to counter the wave of feelings which invaded him. Gods, how long had it been since he’d had a bed partner who actually _enjoyed_ his body? He couldn’t even remember!

All he knew what that right here, right now, lying fully naked under the still-clothed vet, with hands and mouth roaming everywhere over him, wrapping or circling around his nipples just to hear him moan, and with those grunts of obvious enjoyment filling his ears, he was… he was losing it. He felt his heart flip over in his chest, and something tear apart so very deep in his guts.

And then the tear-less sobs followed, and the vet froze, and knelt back up between Ringil’s thighs - and Ringil cursed himself. _You’ve ruined it! You’ve ruined it all!_ He wanted to explain - _“It’s nothing, it doesn’t matter!”_ \- he wanted to beg - _“Please, please, don’t stop!”_ \- but he knew he would never manage to say the words…

He was already imagining lying there as the disgusted vet left the room, when he heard the last sound he would have expected.

The vet _chuckled._

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?” His voice was mocking, but… “The little slut who lured me here is going to pretend he doesn’t want it?” _What…?_ “Going to act like I’m some corrupter of youth who’s forcing him to enjoy all those disgusting acts?”

... And suddenly Ringil understood, and he thought his heart was going to explode from impossible relief and sheer, immense gratitude. He remembered some of the games he had played with Grace-of-Heaven, where indeed he was supposed to be the poor, innocent little boy trapped into immorality by the deft caresses of an old pervert. He had enjoyed them, enjoyed the strange freedom and peculiar pleasure which resulted from the contradictory acts of begging _no, no, please stop_ , while his mind and body screamed, _yes, please, fuck, yes!_

This was, in a way, what the vet was offering him tonight. It was obvious that something was wrong with him, that he was overwhelmed by feelings he couldn’t control, and so the man was offering him an excuse, an exit which would allow him to have his pleasure while maintaining his dignity.

Ringil’s breath caught. _Thank you. Thank you so much._ He would never say the words, of course not, but then the other man wouldn’t expect him to.

“Well, too late for that, kid.” The vet was getting into the act. His voice had roughened and his touch was less gentle when he laid his hands on Ringil’s stomach again. “You got me all hard and bothered, now I’m not leaving this room until I’ve shot my load, one way or the other.”

_Just relax and let it happen, if that’s all you can do, for now at least._

A kiss was laid on his navel, lips wet and chapped, scruffy cheeks brushing roughly against his too-soft stomach, and Ringil lost it completely. He melted into the mattress, and didn’t even bother doing anything about the new sobs rising from his chest.

He let them come, again and again, each of them tightening his throat but lightening a load he hadn’t been aware his heart had been crushed under, as the vet carried them both through the pretense.

He made Ringil writhe again under his touch, while whispering mockingly, “Try to tell me you don’t like it.”

He crawled up Ringil’s body, sat over his upper chest. “Open your eyes, kid,” he ordered. Ringil looked as the vet pulled his prick out of his pants. “See that?” Hell yes, Ringil did, and his mouth was watering. The vet tilted his hips, bringing his prick almost into contact with Ringil’s lips. Ringil waited, impatiently. “Lick it.”

And there it was again, that strange, floating pleasure of doing exactly what Ringil wanted, even while pretending he didn’t like it. Ringil hadn’t often been in the mood for this game back then, but when he was, it was always an incredible relief to indulge in it. And right now… Right now, gods, it felt so fucking _good!_

He licked, just barely at first, and then in earnest. When the vet pushed the head deeper between his lips, he groaned, both for pretense and in true pleasure at the familiar fullness. He loved to suck cock, and even if tonight he was feeling too out of it to really go to work, he was more than happy to just lie here and let the old man fuck his mouth.

“I could come down your throat, you know.” The vet’s voice had thickened, but he was still maintaining the taunting tone in it. “Force you to swallow.” Ringil moaned, his own prick straining at the fire the words were reviving in his lower belly. “I wonder if you’d choke on it?”

Ringil did almost choke on that indeed, and his hips shook badly. _Shit, man, just fuck me already, don’t make me come untouched like some boy!_

The vet chuckled again. “You’re really a right little slut. Just a few dirty words, and you’re ready to spill already. But that’d be a shame.” He lowered his voice to a hungry whisper. “First, I want to see what you’ll look like with my prick deep inside your arse.”

Ringil’s hips arched right off the bed and he could not have pretended that the sound which escaped his cock-filled mouth was anything but lewd.

The old man didn’t comment, only pulled away and then off Ringil. “Sit up.” Ringil obeyed, a bit surprised to find that his arms were shaking as he pushed on them. The vet grabbed his undone jerkin and shirt and yanked them off, brusquely, with no apparent care for the way it twisted Ringil’s shoulders backwards. But Ringil remembered that as well: how Grace would sometimes use brief violence - a vicious pinch, a slap to a cheek or to the arse - to help him regain some control when he seemed to be falling apart in a wrong way.

Standing on his knees, the vet towered over Ringil. He was still mostly clothed, with only his prick hanging out of his open breeches, while Ringil was now completely bare - and the insistent, lustful glint in the old man’s eyes made that point quite clearly. Ringil certainly didn’t complain when the vet murmured, “Such a pretty little slut, all unwrapped just for me.” The slight shame he couldn’t help feeling at those words only enhanced the need which was devouring him. He felt his cheeks heat up some more, even as another throb of pleasure spiked from his rock-hard cock.

“On your knees, kid.”

Ringil wanted to obey, oh yes, he wanted to! But tonight… Tonight he wanted even more to reply, insolently, while staring straight up into the hard blue eyes, “Make me!”

He saw his own redoubled fire reflected in the vet’s gaze. And then the rough hands were on him, grabbing him around the waist, pulling him into a Majak grappling hook he could easily have broken but pretended to be helpless against. In a matter of seconds, he was lying on his front - and then his legs were once again pushed apart, and his hips were levered up in the unforgiving grasp of the strong fingers, and here he was, face and chest and hands on the mattress, arse high in the air, legs spread - and his prick hanging between them, straining, hard and hot and leaking, testifying to just how much he wanted this, all of this.

“There, much better.” He squeaked when a large hand slapped his buttock, hard. “ _This_ is a position worthy of a little brat like you.” He was ready for the second hit, so he only grunted this time.

The last slap, though, on his hole, was completely unexpected, and he couldn’t keep back a yelp of surprise, and pain, and _gods yes_ so much pleasure. _Fuck… Please, pleasepleaseplease!_

“Slut like you, I bet you’re always sticking your fingers up there all the time, aren’t you?” No, he didn’t; handjobs were good enough. But that didn’t matter; he knew where the vet was leading, so he just lay still and waited. “Gotta have something to help with that somewhere, don’t you?”

He pointed to the table behind them with the washbasin. “Don’t you dare move,” the vet instructed before leaving the bed. Soon enough, he was back with the little bottle of oil and with a towel. He laid the latter over the sheet under Ringil and then, standing next to the bed, level with Ringil’s head, ordered, “Hand.” Ringil made a fist which he pulled under his chest. The old man chuckled and moved away.

Once again, he didn’t seem to hold back as he spanked Ringil’s upturned, exposed arse, three times on each buttock. And then he was back. “This hurts you more than it hurts me, you know,” he explained casually. “Plus, I get to enjoy the view, and it’s a very nice view for the record. All brilliant red, as slutty brats like you deserve. You, on the other hand, will only get to enjoy the renewed burn when I fuck you. Sure you wanna play that game long?”

Ringil made a show of slowly extending his hand, palm up and open. The vet dropped a generous amount of oil into it, and thrust his hips forward. Pretending to be as reluctant as he was truly eager, Ringil wrapped his hand around the somewhat short but rather thick prick, and proceeded to thoroughly cover it in oil. And if some of his moves had a lot more to do with enjoying the man’s cock, and bringing him pleasure - rather successfully too, if the vet’s groans and the way his hips jerked were any indication - well, neither of them remarked on it.

Instead, the man concluded with a somewhat breathless, “Good job.” He moved back onto the bed, between Ringil’s legs. “As a reward, you’ll get a finger first. What do you say?” Ringil only moaned into the mattress. It wouldn’t have done to curse the vet for dragging this on, after all, and to beg him for a good, hard fuck already, dammit!

He trembled when a slick finger spread oil over his hole, and it took quite a lot of effort not to push back against it in a futile attempt to impale himself on it. Instead, he waited as his body, remembering the old reflexes, relaxed and opened up under the touch. And then, finally, there was a push there, and he held his breath, and focused on the slow, impossibly enjoyable slide of a long, strong finger up his arse.

Gods, how long had it been!? How long had it been since he’d had a real partner? Someone both willing to do this, and willing to take the time to have more than just a quick fuck in a back alley? He couldn’t remember. He just knew that it had been too long, and so now it was once again becoming too much, and his breath was decaying, and he was going to start sobbing once more any time soon—

“Hey, you know what I’d like?” Ringil forced himself to focus on the vet’s voice through the growing turmoil in his mind and body. “I’d like to hear you beg me to fuck you.”

Ringil shook violently from head to toe. He was falling apart, torn between the equally strong desires to yell _yes_ and to plead _no_.

“Yeah,” the vet continued in an incredibly calm voice, “yeah, that’s what I want. So I tell you what: you don’t get to come until you beg me to fuck you. You gonna stay right here, just like that, and I’m gonna keep your prick hard and ready, until you do as I said. What do you think?”

Ringil wasn’t thinking anymore. He was just _wanting_ : wanting to let go, wanting to crumble into tiny little pieces, to find tears to go with the sobs which were, sure enough, once again ripping out of his throat, tears that would wash the heartache away…

The tears weren’t coming, wouldn’t come at all, because they never did, but what the vet offered would be good too. He felt the usual paradoxical twisting in his mind and guts, as he pretended not to want to say the very words he had been shouting in his head for so long already. “Please…” His voice was rough, but the tension in his entire being ebbed a little bit more away with each word. “Please fuck me.” _Gods, yes, so good…_ “Hard. Fuck me hard! Please!”

And now he was done, empty, unable to do more than kneel here, with his head and shoulders lying heavily on the mattress, his legs spread, his arse up, his prick shivering with pleasure as the vet fingered him.

He couldn’t even be bothered to mourn, nor to rejoice in anticipation, when the finger disappeared. He could just wait. He grunted, and sobbed, and clawed at the sheets, letting both his mind and his body react freely, when the thick cock entered him, and the rough hands became once more gentle as they glided over his hips and thighs, and the old voice was soft, so soft, when it spoke again, “You’re so beautiful like that, kid, you know that? And you’re doing so great, too.”

He’d lost it and he wasn’t coming back this time. The tears were still missing, but he was falling, falling, falling into the pleasure of that thick prick coming and going inside of him, and into the relief of that stranger making it so good for him, telling him and showing him that for once, just for once, once again, he was truly wanted, and what he was offering was being truly appreciated, and there was nothing wrong with him, with what he desired, with what he needed…

When he felt the vet grab hold of his balls while pushing on the base of his prick, he knew what his last act of self-given freedom would be. He waited, waited as long as he could, let the pleasure rise and rise and rise, filling him until he thought surely there was nowhere left for it to go, until his skin became too tight, until he reached that line where ecstasy turned to torturous frustration—

“Please.” Voice hoarse, but he pushed through it. “Please,” and now he could say the forbidden words, “ _I beg you!_ Please, let me come!”

The hand released him, removed the dam.

He came, almost painfully hard, screaming into the mattress.

**

When he woke up, he was lying on his side. There was a sheet wrapped around him, and a warm body behind him, arms holding him close, and the blanket over the both of them.

He blinked, utterly confused and his heart fluttering distressingly in his chest. Then the memories of the evening before slammed back into his head, some of them crystal clear, others far more hazy.

After his orgasm, he’d never quite returned to himself. His body was both heavy as lead and light as air. His mind was barely conscious enough to register the vet finishing inside him, and then… cleaning him? Yes, that, and carefully manipulating him until he was once again flat on the bed. And then? Then nothing. Ringil supposed that must be when he’d fallen asleep.

And the vet had stayed.

… Of course, they could always pretend that he was just trying to save the cost of a room. Or, hell, even that _he_ was the one who’d brazenly taken the opportunity to sleep with a warm body in his arms. He would play along if that was what Ringil decided to say; Ringil knew that, somehow.

Except Ringil didn’t want - didn’t _need_ \- to pretend anymore.

He turned around, looked into the sleeping face of the stranger who had freely given him so much, and easily took his decision.

Impatiently, he freed himself from the sheet. He pushed the slowly awakening vet onto his back and pressed himself against him. The man was still wearing most of his clothes, but he had not bothered to re-lace his breeches. Ringil’s hand easily slipped inside them, and then into the underwear, to wrap itself around the soft, thick prick.

“Wh—?”

Ringil silenced the man with something they hadn’t done at all last night. The chapped lips opened willingly enough under his own. The mouth tasted sour to Ringil’s tongue, but not nearly badly enough to dissuade him.

He frowned when the vet raised his hands, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pushed him back gently. “Kid…” There was an apology in the bright blue eyes, and Ringil panicked. Had he misread something? Had he somehow unwittingly forced the man into doing things he didn’t actually want to? “I’m not staying, you know that, right?”

Ringil stared - and then his head sagged with relief, and he rested it against the old man’s shoulder while laughing softly. “Shit. You scared me, old man. Don’t do that again.” Then he straightened up, and smiled sadly. “Yeah, I know that.”

The vet raised an amused eyebrow. “Well, you got that smart mouth of yours back, I see.” His expression turned stern again. “Seriously though: I’m not staying, and I’m not coming back. I’m going home to the steppes to stay for good.”

Ringil theatrically rolled his eyes. “I know, old man, I know all that.” Yes, he knew - and if there was a tiny ache somewhere in his chest, well, it was uncalled for, so he ignored it. “Now, do you want that good morning handjob or not?”

The sudden fire in the blue eyes, the way the prick in his hand thickened and rose, and the large hands wrapped around his head and pulled it down for another kiss, were more answers that he needed.

**

Ringil saw him outside, watched him load his horse and mount it.

“You take care of yourself, kid, okay?”

Ringil ruthlessly stomped down on the little flame of longing which sparked to life in his chest at those words. Instead, he shook his head and grinned. “I’m the Hero of Gallows Gap living a life of leisure recounting my old exploits to tavern customers, remember? I’m not the decrepit old man going to live on the steppes among the ghouls and the wolves and who-knows-what-else.”

The vet snorted. “You really _are_ an insolent brat, you fucker.” He straightened in his saddle. “Mind you, that’ll give me a good story to tell: how I personally met the Hero of Gallows Gap.” He winked. “Of course, I’ll keep the true extant of that meeting for those who would be appreciative of it.”

Ringil found himself blushing; his heartbeat staggered. He’d never thought of things that way - that anyone could be _envious_ of the men who had fucked him…

The vet laughed. “Urann’s balls, I really need to get going before you manage to trap me here with that far too pretty face of yours.” He turned his horse around. “I’m not gonna forget you any time soon, that’s for sure!” A bright smile and a raised fist, and he was off.

Ringil watched man and beast go. When they turned the corner of the street, he answered, quietly, “I won’t forget you that easily, either.” He’d had plenty of one-night lovers whom he wouldn’t recognise if he met them again, but this one would not be one of them.

He may not have given Ringil his name, nor ever called Ringil by his own, but he wasn’t going to be ‘just another face’.

“Thank you, old man.” Ringil smiled, turned around, went back to his quiet, little, underwhelming, ordinary life of big and small lies inside the inn - but carrying deep within his heart, warm and dear and protected, the memories of a stranger giving him an evening of caring, and a night of lying in someone’s arms…

*** The End ***


End file.
